


Possession

by tveckling



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Angst, Angst and Porn, Broken Bones, Come Inflation, Drug-Induced Sex, Drugged Sex, Incest, Knotting, M/M, Nines is a nickname, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Behavior, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sibling Incest, Twincest, Violence, Werewolf Healing, no happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-09-06 06:49:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16827349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tveckling/pseuds/tveckling
Summary: For what feels like forever Nines has been watching, waiting, wanting. He's always held himself back from taking what he really wants, whatbelongsto him. But now Connor's growing closer to someone else, and he cannot let this happen. He'll never let someone else have what'shis.





	1. July 13/14th - The beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Heyyy and welcome to my new project, of which I have two chapters done and several more planned. Where did this come from, you ask? Simple: thirst.  
> Basically this is nothing but smut with introspection and feelings and pain. There will be no 'happy' ending - for anyone but Nines, that is. You've been warned.

Something's up with Nines. It's been very clear all day, and made even clearer by his repeated refusal to talk to Connor. Even now, with the front door of their house closing behind them, Nines won't look at him, and it's making the gears turn uncomfortably in Connor's head. He must've done something, something that made his brother angry, but he just can't think of  _ what. _   
  
That's why, when Hank asked him out for drinks that evening, Connor said no. It'd been a long week and he was tired, he said. A calm night inside would probably do wonders. Hank, always so perceptive, glanced towards Nines and clapped his shoulder.   
  
Even now, as he remembers it, Connor thinks he can feel a small bit of warmth left behind on his shoulder. It's silly, but Nines isn’t paying attention to him, so he reaches a hand up to touch the spot. His smile is small but impossible to hold back.   
  
He doesn't see the way Nines looks at him, his expression hardening.

When Nines moves into the house proper, Connor snaps out of his sentimentality—stupid  _ pining _ , it's ridiculous—and follows. Nines won't look at him, acts as though he doesn't exist, and Connor can't  _ stand _ it. It's one thing when someone's angry at him, but it's a whole other thing when he's being ignored and treated like air. And, damn Nines, he knows that better than anyone.   
  
"Tell me what's wrong," bursts out of Connor's mouth, before he can stop it. But he's tried being subtle, tried needling a response out of Nines, tried trickery and manipulation, and nothing’s worked. Maybe bluntness is what's needed. So he continues, stepping in front of his brother and blocking his way. "You're clearly upset at something. Is it something I did?"   
  
At least Nines is finally looking at him, though his expression remains unreadable. "I'm going to make dinner," he declares. Any other person's expression would’ve turned mean, or at least mocking, but Nines' just stays impassive as he continues, "I don't need your help."   
  
Of course, he doesn't. Nines has never needed help, much less  _ Connor's _ . And he never fails in reminding Connor of that, though his way of doing so is so matter-of-fact that Connor never finds it in himself to even be annoyed. How can he argue when it's true?

Maybe Nines will be more open to talking after dinner? Connor lowers his eyes and takes a half-step to the side, letting Nines pass. He can always hope.

But dinner is a silent affair, Nines yet again barely looking at him, much less talking to him. After Connor tries asking him questions a few times, Nines gives him such a reproachful look that he just focuses on eating instead. Maybe there is approval in those cold eyes when Connor says he'll do the dishes, but Nines turns away too quick for him to be sure.

He might handle the plates and cutlery with a bit more force than necessary, but no one’s around to see it or judge him so  _ who gives a damn? _ The bad mood lasts as he stalks into the living room, grabbing the remote, and throws himself onto the couch to glare at the screen as he zaps between channels. From over in one of the armchairs Nines looks up from his books and stares at him—but this time it's Connor’s turn to be childish and ignore his brother. If Nines refuses to even be civil, well, two can play that game.

As Connor settles on some trite human wrestling—and immediately starts mentally going through all the ways he would take the two fighters out—Nines seemingly goes back to his book, though he keeps glancing up ever so often. With his actual focus set on Nines—as annoying as he thinks it is—Connor can see, however, that he never changes page. He must be thinking about something, Connor assumes and sullenly hopes it's about how he messed up and now wants to make good with Connor again.

And when Nines finally sighs and closes his book, Connor feels like throwing his fist into the air in victory, but instead he pretends to still be watching the match. Even when Nines stands up, he doesn't look at him. Not until Nines crosses his arms and says his name does Connor turn his head, raising his eyebrows cooly.

“Do you want to say something now?” he asks, letting some bite enter his tone.

Nines narrows his eyes, and for a moment Connor thinks he'll just leave, but instead he purses his lips and nods. “Why don't you… put on a movie, while I go get some drinks for us?” He hesitates another moment, his eyes flickering from Connor to the television, then back again. “Maybe…  _ The Sixth Sense _ ?”

Warmth fills Connor, and he doesn't try to hold back his small smile as he nods. It was their favorite childhood movie—he remembers so clearly how they ripped into it the very first time they saw it, scoffed at how laughably obvious the ghost twist was, but how they still jumped whenever they got scared, or clung to each other to get comfort. Even as they grew older, they returned to the movie time and time again, whenever one was in a bad mood or when they had a fight. That Nines suggests it now is a call for reconciliation, Connor knows. It's reconciliation he'll gladly grant.

“Sounds like a nice idea,” he says and gets to his feet. “And make something good?”

“Everything I do is good,” Nines sniffs and rolls his eyes, and Connor huffs.

“Make it  _ sweet _ , please, dear brother.”

Nines hums, his eyes flickering to and from Connor, before he simply turns and walks away. Connor shakes his head, but continues to smile, and goes to get the film.

It doesn't take long to find the movie and put it on, so Connor makes himself comfortable on the couch. Opening cupboards, the clink of glass, liquid being poured—Connor smiles as he listens to Nines in the kitchen. If there's one thing he can't stand, it's his brother being mad at him; Nines is the only family he has left, the only one who truly knows him, both good and bad. Maybe he might lean too heavily on Nines at times, but how can he not? During their childhood, Nines supported and defended him every time their parents criticized him for not being as skilled as Nines, and after those hunters broke in and destroyed their lives—killed their parents, burned down the house—there was no one but Nines. They've only ever truly had one another.

Without thinking about it, Connor removes a coin from his pocket, fiddling with it as he thinks. 

Things are changing, though, from how it used to be. There are laws in place now to prevent attacks like the one that killed their parents, to keep all non-humans safe, and Connor and Nines are both part of the task force to implement those laws. They have coworkers, humans and werewolves and other so called “creatures” as well. Some of them Connor would even call friends, people that he knows will have his back if needed. There is Hank.

And the thought of Hank, as always, makes everything else flee Connor's head. His smile turns soft, and he bites his lower lip. Hank—jaded, grumpy, sarcastic, but so strong and protective at the same time. They had a rough start, but looking back Connor cherishes every moment of frustration. Because now, every time Hank shoots him a smile or a teasing grin, Connor feels like the world is that much better, like he has found what has been missing. He's found somewhere he belongs, somewhere he can make a difference and help others, with people who respect and like him, with his brother and Hank.

Someday soon—not now, not yet, but soon—Connor will talk with Nines about moving out. He loves the woods, he loves the house they rebuilt and then made their own, and he loves his brother. But he wants more, he wants a life of his own, too. He pictures himself in a small apartment in the city, where he can have movie nights with Nines, and have Markus teach him how to cook proper meals, and invite Hank for drinks after work. Something all of his own.

But the thought also frightens him, because he's never been away from home. He's never been away from Nines, and the thought of moving apart makes his heart beat anxiously in his chest. Part of him doesn't want to, wants to stay here, in this familiar place with Nines, where it's safe.

And that's exactly why he needs to do it. They can't spend the rest of their lives wrapped around each other, neither Connor nor Nines. They need to learn how to live without having the other just a step away at all times.

Connor sighs and leans his head back against the couch. If only he wasn't so certain Nines would freak out at the suggestion. He needs to do it, eventually, but he can't lose his brother. So he'll keep quiet and think, until he can figure out the best way to break the idea to Nines, a way that won't sever the bond they have.

“Why are you sighing?”

Connor’s fingers flinch, and he just barely manages not to fling the coin across the room. Nines stands by the side of the couch, an eyebrow raised over a blank face—but the eyebrow is more than enough to tell Connor how badly Nines is laughing at him on the inside. He always finds it too damn amusing to sneak up on people, and on Connor especially.

“If you didn’t just try to scare me to death, I might be willing to tell you,” Connor says with a grimace, pocketing the coin again. The time for thinking is over. The time for drinking and laughing at a nostalgic movie is starting.

Nines gives Connor a sharp look, but then his face eases and he smiles as he shakes his head. He holds out one of the glasses—the drink's a vibrant orange, and Connor wants to try it out so badly—and sits down on the couch, legs crossed in a relaxed yet elegant way. "Perhaps if it wasn't so easy to sneak up on you, this wouldn't happen as often."   
  
"If you weren't so sadistic, you wouldn't feel the need to sneak up on people." Connor sniffs the drink quickly—something fruity, something that’s probably soda, and vodka are the most prominent smells—and takes a sip. It's- not exactly what he expected. There's the vodka, there's the soda, two or three different types from what he can taste, there's the tell-tale taste of brown sugar that Connor loves so much—but beneath it all there's something sharp, something bitter. It almost makes him want to pour the drink into the sink.   
  
"I need to keep you on your toes," Nines says easily as he drinks from his own glass. "I've always supported you in your training; what brother would I be if I decided to stop for no reason? I want you to be the best you can. You mean more than life itself to me. If something were to happen to you, I wouldn't know what to do."   
  
Connor wants to scowl at Nines for being able to say such sappy things with that easy little smile, while Connor can feel his face burning with embarrassment. Really, how can he just  _ say _ things like that? It shouldn't be allowed, for the sake of Connor's poor heart.   
  
"Is the cocktail not to your taste?"   
  
Connor looks from Nines' furrowed brow down to the glass in his hand. Of course Nines noticed his hesitation. And was that...  _ hurt _ in Nines' voice? When Connor looks back up, Nines has turned away his eyes, fiddling with his own glass. A pang of guilt hits Connor.

"It's just been awhile," he says quickly, taking a sip of the drink. He ignores the bitter tang. "I was more concerned with you first wanting to kill me, and then sucking up to me. It was a very sharp turn in behavior."   
  
Nines shakes his head, but he looks happy again. "I would never try to kill you; I'd rather die myself."   
  
Connor's the one always talking about his feelings, not Nines. The situation’s becoming increasingly surreal with every passing moment, and Connor feels like he's scrambling to catch up. He can't think of anything to do or something to say.   
  
"Movie?" he asks, desperately. If Nines keeps going, he fears he'll spontaneously combust. The cool drink helps somewhat, so in a short few minutes he's drunk half the glass. Not that it matters—they're werewolves, and it would take much more than a single glass of alcohol, even if it was pure vodka, to affect them.    
  
Nines smirks and nods, and Connor turns it on as his brother leisurely sips on his own drink.

On screen Bruce Willis appears, and Connor watches as he gets shot by his former patient. He shifts uneasily and drinks some more—this scene always upsets him, no matter how old he gets, though for different reasons. When he was younger, he remembers, he used to feel angry, blaming Vincent for being too weak. But now, older and more experienced, he can feel nothing but sympathy. Sometimes, he thinks he understands the disturbed young man all too well.   
  
The moment Cole admits to seeing ghosts is always one Connor mimes along with, as dramatically as possible, before falling into laughter, but this time Connor doesn't feel the impulse. He just feels sad as he watches the boy, and without thinking he leans into Nines' side, blinking owlishly at the screen. It's a subconscious movement, and he doesn't even realize what he's done before Nines shifts—then, Connor realizes and panics, worried that Nines will mock him. But the moment he starts to try to straighten himself, Nines' arm sneaks around his shoulders and pulls him in tighter, leaning his head lightly against Connor's. Connor blinks up at his brother, but Nines sips at his glass, eyes focused straight ahead, so with a small smile Connor lets himself melt against Nines.   
  
Cole delivers the tape of the murdered girl to her father, and despite the tense moment Connor feels warm and sated and sleepy. Nines' body is warm, and his arm is safe and secure around his waist, so Connor closes his eyes, just a little. He's seen the movie so many times, he could act it out by himself simply from memory. It's not like he'll actually miss anything if he rests, just for a little while, just for a few minutes.   
  
There's only a bit of the drink left in the glass, but it somehow feels too heavy to hold. Distantly, Connor realizes that his grip is weakening, and the glass is slipping from his fingers, but before he can shake himself or even open his eyes he feels Nines gently take it. Nines leans forward, there's a faint clink, and Connor realizes Nines has put the glass on the table. As Nines moves back, Connor makes himself comfortable again, his smile growing. His brother always looks out for him, always.

The next time Connor opens his eyes is when the boy is convincing his mother his abilities are real, and he frowns. He can't remember falling asleep, which he must’ve done because the last thing he remembers was the boy learning to deal with the ghosts in his life. It takes some effort, he's still so sleepy, but he remembers that he’s missed maybe twenty minutes of the movie, at least. And already he's feeling himself slipping away again, which makes the small part of him still awake enough to think strain. There's no reason for him to be so tired, nothing in particular has happened to exhaust him so much. Up until the movie, he had no problem with staying awake, so why-   
  
"I can hear you thinking," Nines admonishes softly, and Connor looks up to see Nines frowning down at him. "Relax. I'm here, I'll take care of you."   
  
Nines' thumb is warm as it slips under Connor's shirt, and Connor sighs heavily before closing his eyes. Nines is right. He always is. There's no reason to worry about it, he can just let himself let down his guard. Nines is there, he'll wake him up if anything happens.   
  
The movements of Nines' thumb are hypnotic, and the touch is so soft, as is his body. He's normally not so soft, his body hard after a life full of training, but it feels like he's molding himself so Connor will fit better. He's so warm, his scent familiar and loved and  _ safe _ , and Connor drifts off.   
  
When he wakes again, he has no idea what's going on in the movie. Bruce Willis is there, but Nines' hand is warm against Connor's stomach, and Connor can't remember why he should focus. Nines’ eyes are soft, but intense, and Connor closes his eyes again, secure in knowing that his brother's watching over him.

He wakes up, slowly, and the first thing he's aware of is that he’s not sitting on the couch anymore. His feet are dangling freely, the air tickling his toes—his socks have been removed. His head is resting against something soft, but he doesn't even need to scent it or open his eyes before his ear catches Nines’ familiar heartbeat. There are hands on the side of his knee and his side, arms cradling him. There's no other sound than the two of them breathing, and the distant noises of the world outside the house. Nines must be carrying him to bed because the movie ended, then.

And, sure enough, just moments later Nines bends and gently lays Connor down on something soft, something that smells almost as much of Nines as Nines himself. Nines’ bed. Connor sighs and curls up a little, burrowing his head into the pillow. It's not as nice as being nestled against his brother. He sighs again, unhappily this time.

“Is my bed not good enough for you?” Nines murmurs, his voice just above and to the right behind Connor.

“Nnnniiiiinesssss,” Connor whines, trying but failing to form words. He opens his eyes at that, frowning, and tries to speak again. “Wnnnn.”

Nines’ chuckle hits Connor's ear, and the bed dips as Nines lies down, putting his arm around Connor and pulling him up tight against himself. “So demanding. Just lie here and relax, okay? I'll make it all good for you.”

It's so difficult to keep his eyes open, but Connor lets out a questioning growl—though it comes out more like a whine. Nines chuckles again, and gently pushes Connor's shirt up, so he can put his hand on Connor's bare stomach. It's- intimate, and strange. Distantly Connor remembers Nines doing something similar before, but he can't think of why?

Nines shushes him as he whines again, pressing his lips against Connor's temple. “It's okay. Everything's okay. I have you, you're safe with me, remember?”

Connor blinks, frowns, but then closes his eyes. That's true. He's always been safe with Nines. Nines has always been there, always protecting and supporting him. It's all okay. Everything's okay.   
  
Nines keeps pressing his lips against Connor's face. Kisses his cheek, his jaw, his eyelid. Connor sighs, content, feeling loved. Nines’ warmth and scent wrap around him, pull him deeper towards sleep, and he's too tired to think about Nines' hand stroking his chest. He doesn't need to, anyway, because it disappears, and Connor's brow furrows as he lets out another questioning whine. His brother only chuckles, and then a hand is gripping his chin, turning his face, and then Nines' lips are on his. Connor exhales sharply through his nose, blinks blearily, sees Nines' blue eyes looking back at him.   
  
Something's wrong. It feels like something's wrong, but Connor's so comfortable, wrapped in warmth and pleasantness and love and  _ Nines _ , that he can't think of what or why. Nines draws back, just a little, and he smiles. His thumb strokes Connor's jaw, softly, gently, lovingly. Then he leans back in, pressing his lips harder against Connor's, and Connor closes his eyes as a tongue prods at his lips. He doesn't think, just opens his mouth, and Nines' hand grips his hair as the kiss deepens.

There's a moan rising at the back of his throat, and Connor lets it go. His head feels heady already, it’s spinning, everything's too hazy, but kissing—kissing's nice. He likes kissing. And this, these lazy, open-mouthed kisses, are his favorite. Of course, when his partner grabs his hair and pushes in, dominating him as they take control of the kiss, well, that's another favorite.   
  
It's a shame he hasn't had any partners to kiss for such a long time now. It's always hard to sneak around when your family's capable of superhuman hearing, not to mention when they can immediately detect any new scents, but after the fire Nines became- clingy, for lack of a better word. For so many years, whenever Connor managed to find someone he was attracted to, it always ended with Nines coming in and ruining it, often scaring away his partner for good. No matter how upset Connor got, Nines never changed. Eventually, Connor simply gave up. It was easier to simply use his own hand whenever he was feeling needy.   
  
That is, until he got partnered with Hank. Before long, Hank's face, Hank's voice, Hank's scent,  _ Hank  _ was what showed up in Connor's mind as he pleasured himself. Fantasies of Hank's hands, of his smile, of Hank's body above his—sometimes it was hard to look Hank in the eyes.   
  
Connor moans again as his partner tugs at his lip, hand firmly grabbing his hair to hold him still, just before those lips cover his again and the kiss turns soft. Gentle. Loving.   
  
"Don't forget where you are, Connor. Don't think about anyone else. Think only of me."   
  
Connor frowns, trying but failing to open his eyes. It's too hard, he's too tired, and the way that warm hand is stroking his cheek feels too good. He can only sigh softly, make a sleepy sound as lips press against the corner of his mouth, and fade away.

He dreams, or at least he thinks he does. Hank's there, smiling at him, taking him by the hand. He's lying down, somewhere soft, somewhere warm, somewhere safe, and Hank's behind him, arms wrapped around him and making him feel even safer. He hears whispers in his ear, but he can't make out the words. Lips press against his skin, hands caress him, and Connor moans. Everything's a hazy fog, but he feels his body growing warmer, desire pooling in his stomach as hands go lower. Hank chuckles in his ear, before moving.   
  
He's on his back, and he's still dreaming, he's sure of it. His shirt's pushed up as far as the buttons would let it, and his legs are spread to allow for the person kneeling between them, unzipping his jeans. Connor moans again, sees Hank's greying hair as he reaches out a shaky hand. There's a ghost of a breath against his skin as nimble fingers pull out his slowly hardening cock, and Connor moans harder, toes curling in the sheets. A hoarse murmur of  _ 'beautiful _ ,' and then a hand grabbing him, firmly at first but then adjusting the grip as he pants.   
  
All thoughts leave his head as a wet tongue traces the slit on his cockhead, and Connor arches his back with a loud cry.

"So sensitive," a voice growls, and Connor looks down to see Nines, his eyes flashing red. He has Connor's cock in his hand, and his tongue sweeps over the head again when their eyes meet. Connor throws his head back, mouth open, but he can see Nines lick his lips. "And so eager... you're  _ gorgeous _ , Connor, absolutely gorgeous."   
  
There's something like alarm rising in his head, but it gets swept away as something hot and wet engulfs his cock without warning. Connor shouts, voice breaking off into a wail, and he  _ feels _ Nines' throat rumbling, far more intimately than he could’ve ever imagined. Nines sucks at him, and Connor tosses his head from side to side with desperate sobs, his hands shaking where they grip the sheets.   
  
As he sucks, Nines also moves his hands, one squeezing and stroking Connor's cock while the other massages his balls. Tears slip loose from Connor's clenched eyes, and they slide down his temples and into his hair as he keeps moaning breathlessly. His voice doesn't quite manage to drown out the slurping noises Nines makes, and something tight and uneasy moves in Connor's chest. But he can't think about what it is, or where it comes from, not when he's getting his first blowjob in so many years. And Nines somehow knows exactly how to please him best, how to press his tongue or twist his hand, and Connor's lost all ability to think. He's so hot all over, his body's aching from holding himself back, and he can feel his muscles tense as he gets closer.   
  
Nines growls, the vibrations reverberating through Connor's cock, and he comes with a voiceless wail, back arching and eyes unseeing.   
  
Throughout his orgasm Nines keeps his mouth in place, keeps sucking, until Connor slumps back in bed, whining as Nines' touch grows painful. With a huff Nines lets Connor's cock slip out of his mouth, and when he looks up at Connor his expression is nothing but predatory. Connor's heart, already racing, starts beating even faster, and he whines again, somehow trying to find the strength to move away as Nines crawls up along his body. But there's no strength to be found, all his bones seemingly turned into putty, and Nines' eyes paralyze him with the emotions Connor can see in them—though he refuses to think about  _ what  _ emotions he sees. Connor helplessly closes his eyes as Nines leans down to kiss him.

Unlike before—he remembers,  _ god _ , that happened, Nines  _ kissed _ him, and now he-  _ oh, god— _ Connor keeps his lips closed. A growl warns him that Nines is unhappy, but Connor ignores it. It's hard to move, it's hard to think, but his head's getting clearer, and he's  _ terrified  _ of what's going on. His chest hurts, his eyes hurt, his head hurts, and his brother's  _ kissing _ him.    
  
The growl rumbling in Nines' chest grows louder, and a hand that’s not quite human anymore grips his jaw and squeezes. And, still, Nines keeps kissing him. The pain's too much, Connor's too out of it, too terrified, too horrified, so he opens his mouth. Quickly a tongue slips past his lips, pushing  _ something _ into his mouth, and Connor's eyes snap wide open as he realizes what Nines is doing.   
  
He wants to turn away, wants to choke and spit, but the hand holds him still, and Nines keeps pushing his own come into his mouth. Red eyes watch him, staring unblinkingly, and Connor whines as he keeps the salty substance in his mouth. Once Nines is done, once his mouth is as clean as can be, he pulls back, just a little, licking his lips as he studies Connor. His hand is still keeping him still.   
  
"Don't you dare spit it out," Nines warns, his voice low. He leans forward again, pressing his nose into Connor's cheek, rubbing it slowly. "Be a good boy and swallow, Connor.  _ Now _ ."   
  
His eyes flickering shut, Nines' half-formed claws sharp on his face, and Nines' command unmistakable, Connor swallows. Nines growls in satisfaction, his claws retreating until his hand is human again, and he turns Connor's face to lick his lips. Connor doesn't need to be told what to do; he wearily opens his mouth, and Nines' other hand carefully tucks Connor's cock back into his pants as he kisses Connor deeply, tongue exploring every part of Connor's mouth. There are tears in Connor's eyes, but they clear away after he blinks several times.

Finally Nines pulls away, and he falls down next to Connor with a heavy sigh—arm still around Connor, keeping him settled. Caged. Trapped.   
  
"You don't know how long I've been waiting," Nines murmurs, so quietly. But of course Connor hears him, as though he's still leaning over to whisper into his ear. "So many years, where I've only allowed myself to watch you from a distance. I always knew no one else would try to take you from me, so there was no need to hurry, no matter how  _ badly _ I-"   
  
Connor stares up at the ceiling, trying to keep his heart under control, trying to keep his body from shaking, trying to keep the tears from falling. What's going on?  _ What _ is Nines talking about?  _ What's happening? _   
  
"You were never supposed to get close to anyone else. I’ve worked so hard all these years to make sure of it." Nines' hand is gentle as it caresses Connor's cheek. Connor wants nothing more than to flinch away from the touch. "But then you had to go and develop a- a  _ crush _ . On that alcoholic failure of a cop. A juvenile crush, of all things. When you're already  _ mine _ ."

At that, Connor can't stop himself from turning his head, from staring at his brother. "What?"   
  
Nines presses his lips against Connor's lips in a quick kiss, smiling, keeps caressing Connor's cheek. "You didn’t think I haven't noticed, did you? Even if I hadn't been able to smell your arousal around him, I have eyes, Connor, and I know you. I've known since before you yourself did, and I've kept quiet. All the other times you had a crush, they were over so quickly—and those that weren't were forcibly ended rather easily. But this time... you've developed  _ real _ feelings. For someone else?"   
  
There's pure hatred in Nines' voice, and something cold licks at Connor's spine. He's only ever heard that tone a handful of times before, and it makes him almost sick to his stomach when he hears the tone being used about  _ Hank _ . It's almost enough to make him forget about everything Nines is saying.

Nines’ smile is hard, as are his eyes. Connor can't look away. “You belong to me, Connor. You always have, since we were born. I’ve supported you, I’ve helped you, I’ve guided and trained you—I  _ own _ you. You're  _ mine _ . And I will never let anyone else have you.”

Connor shakes his head, opens his mouth to protest, to try and talk some sense into Nines, to  _ scream _ , but he's cut off as Nines claims his mouth, his hand at the back of Connor's head keeping him in place. This time Nines kisses him differently; it's slow, deep, full of love. But Nines' teeth are too sharp, nicks his mouth and makes him bleed, and all the while, the kiss deepens even more, turning demanding and possessive as Nines sets about trying to  _ devour _ Connor from the inside out. His eyes are red, furious, and hungry— _ so hungry _ —and Connor can't breathe, can't move, can't escape.   
  
He's never needed to  _ escape _ from Nines before,  _ never _ .

The flash of fury comes from nowhere it seems, but it gives him strength, gives him something to actually focus on, rather than just letting Nines do whatever he wants. Connor bites down, breaking the kiss as Nines jerks away with a muffled shout of pain, and the taste of blood in his mouth—not his own, but someone else's—makes him remember.  _ Nines isn't the only werewolf here, _ and Connor refuses to just lie back and offer his throat without a fight.

His claws are out, his fangs sharp, and his eyes yellow—he's calling on his werewolf side, he has to. He may not be an alpha, doesn't have those alpha red eyes, but that doesn't mean he's  _ weak _ . Nines is focused on the pain, not on guarding against attacks; his face jerks up with an almost comically surprised expression when Connor throws himself at him.

But Connor’s weaker than he should be, slower than he should be. By the time he has Nines on his back, his fist raised up high, Nines is baring his own fangs, the wound on his tongue either already healed or ignored. Connor’s punch is blocked— _ far too easily _ , why, why is he so much weaker than usual?—and Connor's head snaps to the side from the force of Nines’ own punch. 

There's no time to react— _ he’s so slow _ , damn it—before Nines’ hand closes around his throat and forces him back down on the bed. Nines snarls, fury plain on his face, and he lifts one clawed hand. Connor snarls back, defiant, ready for pain—but he's not ready for Nines to grab his shirt and  _ tear _ , scattering buttons across the room.

" **_Stop fighting_ ** ," Nines growls, the command imbued with the full force of an alpha, and Connor helplessly feels his body go limp. Nines' grip doesn't ease, however.

Connor shakes his head, sobs bubbling to his lips. His head's swimming, was already swimming even before Nines started choking him, and the tears finally fall. " _ Why are you doing this? _ "   
  
The fury eases, just a tiny bit, and Nines strokes one claw down Connor's face—almost gently, which is  _ laughable _ . "You're mine, Connor. My mate. We belong together; we've belonged together our whole lives. I can't let someone else have what's mine, now can I?"   
  
Raising his arms is hard but doable, but he can’t find the strength to push against Nines' chest. Nines' grip around his throat has eased, still holding him down but letting him breathe now. Connor's head is a mess, his body's so weak, Nines is talking about possession and mating and 'belonging together,' but it all just swirls around in Connor's head without making sense, because  _ he can't think _ . Nines grabs his undershirt and rips it apart, the fabric easily shredded by his sharp claws.   
  
"Stop it! We can't- please, stop, just let us talk. I can't  _ think _ , Nines, this is- this is too much, just let me  _ think _ ."   
  
Nines huffs, his lips twisting into a smirk, and he looks down at him with contempt that chills Connor to the bone. Nines has never looked at him like that before—never looked at him just like their parents used to. "Of course you can't think. You’re a weakling who can’t even notice when you’re being drugged—the effect must be debilitating. Is this the sort of werewolf you are, Connor? Is this  _ all _ you’re capable of?"   
  
Connor blinks, and some of the questions he had disappear. Nines had  _ drugged _ him. The strange taste of the drink. The way he got so tired, how he kept falling asleep. Why he's so weak. All because  _ his brother _ had  _ drugged _ him.   
  
Nines throws away the remains of the undershirt, and slowly moves his hand down Connor's chest to his open belt. "Or, maybe you did know, and simply let it happen? Is that it, brother dearest? Did you see this coming? Did you welcome it? Did you  _ want _ me to take you apart and fuck you so hard you won't even remember who you are?"

Connor's eyes are so wide they almost ache, and he shakes his head furiously, hands fumbling uselessly as he tries, and fails, to stop Nines from tugging the belt loose. “No! No, I didn't!”

Nines throws the belt aside and raises a single, unimpressed eyebrow. “Either you're a weak, pathetic excuse of a werewolf or you secretly wanted an excuse to be fucked by your own brother.” He clicks his tongue, and tilts his head as he looks down on Connor, his free hands moving down to push against Connor's crotch, drawing a sharp inhale. Nines smirks. “And I think I know which one it is. You've already enjoyed my mouth, after all, and you certainly seem to be enjoying my touch right now.”

“No, I don't. I don't- I don't want any of this. Please,  _ don't do this. _ ” Connor whimpers and tries to stop Nines from tugging off his jeans, but Nines growls as he tightens his grip around Connor’ throat, and Connor lets him. He feels wretched, sick and shaking and still so weak, and it only gets worse when both of Nines’ hands stroke his bare thighs. All he's wearing now are his boxers, and he knows far too clearly that that's unlikely to last much longer. 

“Nines, please,” he begs, his voice thick with desperation, “you're my  _ brother. _ ”

Nines’ eyes flick up towards Connor's face, and he smiles, slowly. It's not reassuring, especially not with the way he keeps his hands on Connor's skin, rubbing his inner thighs. “‘Brother’ is just a word. It doesn't explain anything about what we really are, or how we belong to each other. You're my brother, yes, and I love you more than I’ve ever loved anything else. But not in the way one might think; you're mine, and I have always  _ burned _ with the desire to claim that ownership and truly make you mine. I've wanted to taste your skin, and leave my marks on your body, and make you scream my name in ecstacy  _ for so long _ .”

Slowly, almost as if he's daring Connor to try to stop him, Nines tears through the sides of the boxers with his claws. The alpha's command is still there, still like a weight crushing him better than Nines’ himself. Connor simply hides his face in the crook of his arm and tries desperately to control the way his body’s starting to shake. But the last of the fabric holding his boxers together snaps lose, and Nines pulls it away—and Connor loses himself, curls up on his side and buries his face in both arms as he starts crying for real.

It takes a bit for Nines to react—just a few seconds, though it seems like an eternity—but then he leans forward and rubs Connor's back, kisses his shoulder, then pushes lightly at Connor to make him lie on his stomach, and starts making his way down Connor's spine, kissing and biting and licking. And Connor can't do anything but lie there and cry, until finally Nines puts his hands on Connor's ass. And as Nines pulls at both cheeks, his breath ghosting over Connor's hole, Connor’s body tenses.

Nines hums thoughtfully, then sits up and pulls off his shirt. Connor lies still with wide eyes, tears having stopped coming, but he can't make himself breathe, much less move. He hears every movement Nines makes, hears the sound of his belt being pulled off, his pants being unzipped. There's a momentary reprieve, a short time when Connor feels like he can almost breathe, as Nines gets off the bed to pull off his pants and underwear. But then he goes to the nightstand and opens one of the drawers.

There’s something stopping Connor from getting up, something primal he can just barely put his finger on. It’s as though, if he stays still enough he won't pull any attention to him. If he lies still enough Nines will forget he's there and just leave him alone.

It's a futile hope, of course. Nines finds what he’s looking for soon enough, and climbs back onto the bed. Connor flinches at the sound of a bottle being opened, and something both hot and cold bites inside his chest. He's a virgin, in some senses of the word; he’s given and received blowjobs and handjobs before, but that's as far as he's ever gotten—and now, knowing Nines’ ulterior motives, he's surprised he has even that much experience. But he’s never gone further, has never penetrated someone or been penetrated. He's never even seen someone completely naked, except for his brother when they were younger.

And now Nines’ cold, wet finger is pressing up against Connor's hole, and Connor wants nothing more than to  _ disappear _ .

“Nines,” he whispers with a broken voice, trying one last time to reach his brother. “Please, don't…  _ please _ , Aida-”

Nines’ growl resonates throughout the room, but Connor can't focus on anything but his own choked scream as Nines’ finger—human, with normal, blunt nails—pushes fully into his ass. His claws tear holes in the pillow under his head as he desperately fights to remember how to breathe again, and distantly he feels Nines pull out his finger, taking with him the painful intrusion. He sobs in relief, gasping heavily as his whole body shakes.

“Don't you  _ ever _ say that name again,” Nines hisses, and shoves in three fingers instead, his other hand holding Connor still as he jerks and tries to get away.

Connor wails, and his head is a blurry mess as he tries to find something,  _ anything _ , that he can use to pull himself away with—away from the searing agony that's consumed the lower half of his body. Nines may have coated his fingers in lube, but that doesn't make much of a difference when he forces too much too fast. Connor’s faintly aware of Nines’ hand on his hip, and Nines muttering something, but he can't focus on anything outside of the pounding pain in his head and the way Nines’ fingers burn as they drag in and out of him.

When Nines pulls them out it's not even a relief, because Connor's not naive, and he knows what's coming next. It’s still hard to believe; most of him is still trying to pretend it's all a bad dream, that it's not really happening, that so much of his life hasn't been a big lie, that his  _ brother _ isn't actually  _ raping _ him. But there are tears on his face, weakness in his limbs, pain in his ass— _ so much pain _ , it's not supposed to hurt like this, he's read that it's supposed to feel good, he’s imagined so many times that Hank would make him feel good—and his breath hitches as harsh hands grab him and turn him around to lie on his back. Automatically his arms fly up, as though he needs to protect his head, but Nines only looks at him.

“No one has the ability to enrage me like you do,” Nines says, reaching out a hand to gently push away Connor’s arms, to force them down again. He's kneeling between Connor's knees, leaning forward to look over him. His face isn't as furious as it was before, but when it comes to Nines that means nothing—only that he's managed to exert enough control over himself to keep his emotions hidden. “It's all because I care for you so much, because you mean the world to me. That means you can hurt me in ways no one else can. And you do, Connor, you hurt me and make me so jealous and angry that I can barely breathe. I love you, I truly do, and I was going to make this good for you. I was going to take my time and be gentle, bring you such pleasure you didn't know existed.”

With a sneer, Nines grabs Connor's arms and pins them one-handed above Connor's head. His other hand seizes Connor's chin, harsh and punishing. “But you haven't done anything to deserve that, have you? You actually  _ attacked _ me, Connor. My patience with you is  _ over _ .”

It's impossible to hide now, impossible to turn his face away and pretend he can't see anything. Nines shifts closer to Connor, spreading Connor's legs wider to accommodate him, and when he reaches down to stroke his cock Connor can't stop himself from following the movement with his eyes. And,  _ god _ , that is-   
  
"No. No, no, no, please, I can't, there's no way you'll fit, Nines, you'll- you'll  _ hurt _ me." He babbles, he knows it, but he can't stop it. Nines' cock is fully erect, and the sheer size of it makes Connor breathless. If just a few of Nines' long, slender fingers hurt so much, how badly will  _ that _ hurt?   
  
Nines only tilts his head slightly, raising an unimpressed eyebrow. He doesn't stop lazily stroking himself. "Most likely, yes. It's what you deserve for your behavior. But it doesn't matter; you'll heal quickly enough."

Whatever objections lying on Connor's tongue die as Nines guides his cock to Connor's hole. His mouth suddenly dry, Connor can only watch with mounting horror as Nines moves his hips a little, pushing his cock against Connor's rim, teasing but not quite pushing in. It’s so large, Connor can't stop staring at it. He's never been fucked, has never even used a toy on himself, only tried with his fingers a handful of times, and Nines is  _ so big _ , and he's going to fuck him, he's going to tear him open because Connor isn’t prepared, and he feels himself tense and he knows, he  _ knows _ , that makes penetration more difficult and painful, and Nines is already so big, how is  _ that _ supposed to go into his body, Nines is his brother, how can he do this, how can he-

Connor throws his head back with a scream ripping from his throat as Nines thrusts into him in one powerful movement. It hurts, it hurts _it hurts_ **_it hurts_** , and he's stuffed so full he can't breathe, but he keeps screaming because it hurts, and it’s Nines, and Nines is fucking him, Nines is _raping_ him, Nines is too big and he wanted to hurt him, and he did, he _did_ , he _is hurting him_ , it all hurts, it hurts so bad, and Nines is moaning above him because _Nines is fucking him_.

“Connor…” 

Nines leans forward, his eyes tightly shut, his brow creased. It looks like he's holding back, but how can he be, when he's tearing Connor apart like this? He pulls out, slowly, and the excruciating drag against torn skin rips another hoarse yell from Connor's throat, makes fresh tears run down his face, but Nines only moans again, red eyes opening into slits.

“ _ God _ , Connor, the way you're squeezing me… you feel so  _ good, _ it’s like I'm losing my mind. You're taking me so well, Connor. You truly are. So good, Connor, you're so good, so beautiful, absolutely beautiful. Connor, my- oh-”

Connor's eyes threaten to roll back into his skull as Nines snaps his hips, pushing his cock back into him, his whole length buried in Connor's trembling body. Nines shakes his head, leaning down to rest it against his chest, and growls deep down in his chest. The way his hips keep moving seems almost out of control, small, wild jerks that don’t actually pull his cock out much or push it further in, but Connor still feels every movement all too clearly.

“Good thing I used so much lube,” Nines says—there’s  _ laughter _ in his voice, and Connor stares at him. “You're so tight, so warm and dry inside, squeezing me- oh, squeezing me  _ so good _ . It would’ve been quite uncomfortable if I hadn't.”

Connor feels hysterical giggles bubbling up in his chest, and he desperately bites his lip to keep them down, averting his eyes. It would’ve been  _ uncomfortable _ for Nines? If he hadn't been so generous  _ lubing himself up _ ? Before he started  _ raping Connor _ ?

Nines’ grip around his wrists doesn't give an inch, Connor finds as he tries pulling them away. But once he starts, he finds he can't stop, pulling and struggling as his breathing grows heavier, as whines escape his throat. The tears keep falling, which he's almost grateful for, because they make it harder to see Nines’ face as he grabs Connor's chin again and leans down to kiss him, devouring every gasp and whine and sob that spill helplessly from his mouth as Nines keeps moving his hips, keeps bringing fresh pain that makes Connor dizzy. He keeps trying Nines’ hold, but he's weak,  _ so utterly, completely powerless _ , and Nines moans against his lips.

“Don't you feel it?” Nines asks, his lips brushing against Connor's, before delving in for another quick, bruising kiss. “This is right. This- what we're doing now, this is  _ right _ . I feel it, feel it in my very soul. I shouldn't have waited so long to claim you, I should’ve done this years ago. You're so good, Connor, absolutely gorgeous. I'm sorry for being so rough, but you have to understand, you've been taunting me for so long now. And then, with this crush? Every single day has been hell, when all I've wanted to do was pull you away from him and show everyone just who you belong to.”

He moans, leaning his forehead against Connor’ collarbone, his hips twitching. The agony is almost becoming background noise to Nines’ crushing weight and his painful words and his nauseating touches—Connor must be getting numb to it, but he can't possibly become numb to  _ Nines _ . He stares up at the ceiling, fingers twitching.

“Because you belong to me, Connor. You do, you always have, and now- now it's real. You're  _ mine _ , and I'll never let you stray from my side.”

When Nines’ fangs latch on to Connor's shoulder and  _ bites down _ Connor loses control, his legs tightening around Nines, his back arching, his voice breaking as he screams mindlessly.

Connor  _ feels _ Nines’ moan vibrating against his skin, but then he can’t feel or think anything anymore as Nines lets go of his hands, grabs both of his hips, and starts pounding into him, all the while keeping his teeth buried in Connor's shoulder. Connor screams again, burying his own claws in Nines’ back—though whether he’s trying to hold on to him or tear him away is impossible to say. It only serves to encourage Nines, and he growls, claws drawing blood from Connor's skin, his hips slamming into Connor's with enough force to make his whole body jolt and his voice cut off.

“ **_Mine_ ** ,” Nines snarls, looming over Connor with shining red eyes, blood— _ Connor’s blood _ —dripping from his fangs. 

“ **_Mine_ ** .”

He leans down and bites into Connor's chest, and Connor can't even scream, can only cry and cling to Nines.

“ **_Mine_ ** .”

He puts his hands under Connor's thighs and pushes them up, bending Connor in half, and fucks into him with abandon.

“ **_Mine_ ** .”

Connor tries to close his eyes—it's all too much, his head is swimming with everything that’s going on and everything he's discovered and everything he’s  _ feeling _ —but Nines’ eyes lock onto his, and he can't look away.

“You're  _ mine _ , Connor,” Nines murmurs, but the quietness of his voice doesn't do anything to take away from the intensity of it that's choking Connor. “From now on, until the day we die.  _ Mine _ .”

Connor can only swallow heavily, and he can't manage so much as a flinch when Nines keeps pounding into him brutally—he can only keep staring at Nines’ eyes, can only hear those words echoing in his head, can only feel how Nines is filling him up—how he’s being enveloped by Nines’ body and scent and  _ eyes _ , piercing through him. He’s cut off from his body, floating on a wave of distant emotions he can't quite make out, kept still and frozen and  _ good, so good _ , by that pair of red eyes. Noises come to him, as though from far away, of wet skin slapping against skin, of moaning, of the bed creaking. All he hears is one voice, one word, one command.

“ **_Come_ ** .”

Nines bends down and swallows Connor's cry, keeps fucking into him as Connor shakes apart, eyes wide and unseeing, hands frozen as every muscle in his body momentarily locks up. Everything’s gone, for just one moment, one heartbeat. Connor doesn't exist, and Nines doesn't exist. Just the  _ release _ .

Then it’s over, and Connor comes back to himself. The drag of Nines’ cock inside of him, having become numb—and almost pleasurable in a sense—is quickly growing painful again, and Connor whines at the back of his throat, pushing weakly against Nines’ chest. But Nines only growls back at him, hands tightening around his thighs as he drops all pretense of control. There's not a single part of him that seems to care about Connor's discomfort, or the pain he's swiftly being hurled back towards, as he closes his eyes, lost in what must be his own chase for completion.

Everything hurts, again, Connor's getting lost in the pain of overstimulation—that's why he doesn't notice anything amiss at first. But Nines’ frantic movements stutter, his claws burying themselves in Connor's flesh, and Connor feels how the pressure inside of him is markedly different than before,  _ bigger _ , before Nines moves again, small forceful thrusts as he tries to get deeper into Connor. And the pressure, Nines’  _ cock _ , keeps growing.

Connor scrambles blindly, fighting to catch his breath. He knows what's going on, but that doesn't make the reality of it any less terrifying. Male alphas knot, he knows that, he can almost hear his mother explaining the phenomenon clinically. But she never said it would  _ hurt _ so bad, that it would feel like he’s being torn apart.

Nines tries to thrust again, and Connor cries out as the knot inside him is simply  _ too big _ to move. It’s  _ stuck _ , and the way it pulls at him is torture. But Nines only moans, and his hands shake as he hunches forward with a gasp, and then there’s a new pressure—not as large or forceful, but warm and  _ wet _ —spreading inside of him. Connor's hand shakes, almost too hard to control, but it eases a bit when he presses it to his mouth, biting into the back of it, closing his eyes tightly so he can’t cry. Nines’ drawn-out sigh is full of satisfaction, and Connor bites down harder.

Nines slowly, carefully releases Connor's legs, rubbing them soothingly. He looks- concerned, almost, his blue-gray eyes soft as he studies Connor. Gently he takes Connor's arm and eases his hand out from between Connor’s teeth, fingers stroking his cheek.

“Talk to me, Connor? How a-”

“Get it out.” Connor trembles, but there's nothing to stop the words from tumbling out of his mouth, and he mindlessly grabs Nines’ arms, claws digging into them. “Get it out of me, it hurts, Nines, get it out,  _ get it out _ .”

Nines frowns and dislodges one of Connor's hands so he can reach for Connor's face, grabbing it and waiting until Connor's flickering gaze rests on him. “Connor, I  _ can't _ . You know that as well as I do. The damage would be substantial if I did.”

Connor shakes, his head tossing from side to side, faster and faster, just like his breath is getting faster and faster. “I want it out. I don't- I don't want it in me, get it out, please, Nines, Nines, it hurts,  _ it hurts _ .”

Nines shushes Connor as he leans down down kiss his lips quickly, then his cheeks, his eyelids, his forehead. “It’s okay. You're doing so good for me, Connor. I love you, okay? You're doing so well, hold on just a little while longer. You can do it, you can handle this amount of pain.”

“ _ Please _ ,” Connor whispers brokenly. The tear that runs down from the corner of his eye is quickly caught by Nines’ lips, and Connor closes his eyes as Nines presses soft kisses all over his face again.

“It's okay. You're okay. You're doing so well. You're beautiful, Connor, so beautiful, and you feel so, so good wrapped around my knot like this. I love you, Connor, my brother, my love, my mate. Love you so much. So much, Connor.”

The pressure inside of Connor doesn't ease, but the pain fades, just a little, and Connor lets Nines’ words wash over him. Anything to distract him from the way it still feels like he'll be torn apart if he so much as breathes too deeply. Nines helps, his calm voice soothing Connor, guiding him, helping his erratic heartbeat slow down. As long as he doesn't think about the actual  _ words _ coming out of Nines’ mouth.

Nines nuzzles into Connor's throat, breathing in deeply. “You smell as much of me as I do of you,” he says, voice shivering with  _ something _ . His hand strokes Connor's side, his hip, his stomach. “You're perfect. Everything I've ever dreamed of. Connor.  _ My _ Connor.”

Connor focuses on breathing, just breathing, but he can't stop the way his thoughts start to circle, growing louder and impossible to ignore. Nines’ lips against his neck are also impossible to ignore, and the realization of what just happened finally hits Connor. Oddly, he doesn't scream or cry or fight. He just blinks and asks in a quiet, numb voice, “How could you do this?”

Nines raises his head, brow furrowing as he thinks, then his face darkens. “How could I- I have done  _ everything _ for you.  _ Always _ , my whole life. It's always been you, everything I've done has been for  _ your _ sake! When mom and dad told you off for not being as skilled as me, I stepped in to defend you. When you were lagging behind in our training, I gave up all my spare time to help you train. When you felt lonely or insecure, I held you and comforted you. When mom and dad wanted to separate us, I had them killed, and after that I always protected and took care of you— _ always _ ! I did  _ everything  _ for you!”

Connor feels light headed, and his lungs just won't quite work. He can't look away from Nines, can't stop staring at the furious expression twisting his brother's face into something cruel, even as his mind stumbles in trying to grasp what Nines just told him. “W-wait, you… mom and dad… you?”

Nines huffs and looks away with a sneer before looking back at Connor as he grabs his face. “You were always fixating too much on them, Connor. Them and their approval, even though they're not important and never were—not as much as  _ me _ . But yes. I overheard them talking one night; they were going to send you to stay with mom's relatives in Ireland, and they would keep me here. Marry me off to some suitable woman so I could continue the family line, or whatnot.”

Connor slowly starts to shake his head, but Nines continues, his eyes turning red as he loses himself in the details of the story, in old hatred that Connor never even knew about. There's so much he never knew about, it seems. He can't breathe, can't think, from the weight of how much he didn’t know.

“I couldn't allow that to happen, so I made plans and managed to lure in a group of hunters. It wasn't that hard, but it took some time convincing them. I couldn't risk even a chance of mom and dad making it out alive, so I poisoned their food—it was just regular human poison, so it wouldn't kill them. But it did make them weak, and therefore easy targets for the hunters. Then all I had to do was turn off the alarms in the forest, and go into your room to wait. Once I heard the fighting start, I pulled you out and into safety.”

Connor shakes his head, and then can’t stop shaking it. His eyes flicker, moving from Nines and across the room, but never landing on Nines’ face. He doesn't know what he'll find there, and he can't, he  _ can't _ , handle what he fears he'll see. “You can't be serious. That's- no. No, that's a lie. It has to be.”

“I'm being completely honest with you.”

Gritting his teeth, Connor grabs Nines’ shoulders and looks at his brother's face, staring into his eyes. “We were fourteen! You mean to tell me that you- you orchestrated our parents’  _ murders _ when you were a  _ teenager _ ?”

Nines raises his eyebrows, looking confused as though he can't understand why Connor won't simply accept what he's saying. And maybe that's just it. Even after everything that's happened, everything Nines’ done—even with Nines’ cock buried deep in his ass—Connor wants to pretend it’s not real.  _ His brother _ wouldn't do these things.

“They were going to take you from me. I couldn't let them. I'm telling you, Connor: you're mine. You always have been. And I will do  _ anything _ to keep you by my side.”

The simple but heartfelt admission takes the breath from Connor, and he can only let his arms fall to the bed. Nines waits for him to say something more, but when nothing comes, he smiles and gives Connor a quick kiss, before lying down on with his head on Connor's chest. Connor barely notices how the movements make the knot shift inside him—he's staring, empty-eyed, up at the ceiling of the room. There's nothing in his head, nothing but Nines’ voice echoing, whispering words of love that shatter Connor's whole world.


	2. July 14th, noon

Nines is gone. Connor could hear him walking around downstairs until just a little while ago, but now, it's all quiet. Or, it would be quiet if not for the loud drumming in Connor's ears—he knows it's just his own heartbeat, but still there's the feeling that he needs to quiet it down. If he doesn't, Nines will hear.

But Nines isn't there—Connor can't hear him—so carefully, Connor moves out of Nines’ bed and pulls on his jeans. His hands are shaking, but he pays them no mind. His jeans are the only part of his clothes still intact, but he forces himself not to think about why. The tears have long since dried on his face, but he feels like they've burned tracks into his skin.

At least being barefoot helps to make him more silent. The window opens easily without a noise, but Connor freezes and listens for Nines with his heartbeat drumming in his ears. There's nothing—nothing but the usual sounds of the calm, quiet woods surrounding their house. He can't pick out any sound that could be Nines, and it both relaxes and scares him. Nines has always been better at masking his presence, at sneaking through the forest without making any noise, and he's all too often showed Connor just how much more skilled he is. Nines could be anywhere, could be somewhere close watching him, and Connor wouldn't know.

But he can't stay here. He  _ can't _ , he just can't. Nines will surely be back soon, and then he'll come in, and he'll touch Connor again, and-

Connor swallows heavily and forces his claws to retract. He needs to control himself. Later, he'll let himself think about what happened—all the things he was told—but for now he needs to focus on getting out of here, out of the forest that marks Nines’ territory. Because it was never Connor's. He might’ve lived in it too, but it was always Nines’. Now, more than ever, he feels the knowledge of that unspoken fact hanging over his head.

All he needs to do is get somewhere public, with lots of people. Nines won't chase him when there are people watching, Connor knows that in his very bones. He just needs to get through the woods. That's all. That shouldn't be too hard.

Releasing a shaky breath, Connor ignores the doubt weighing down his chest and quickly jumps out through the window. It's only a drop down from the second floor, a jump he's made countless times before, and he lands seamlessly in a roll, then he's running. There's nothing he can do about Nines hearing him, he knows that; Nines will find him no matter how careful he is. So Connor throws stealth to the wind and  _ runs _ .

Trees rise around him, so far above, blocking out the sun. Connor's grown up in this place, ran amongst these very same trees as a child. Never before have they seemed so threatening, nor have the shadows seemed so deep.   
  
Connor runs, forces his body to the limit. The house disappears behind him before long, and then only the forest surrounds him. He jumps over a bush, startles a rabbit, but he's already gone before it can dive under a tree root. For a moment, memories—innocent and happy—of joining forces with Nines on their first hunt fill his head. They’d caught a deer, young and tender, and they’d celebrated for a whole week.   
  
And now, now it's Connor running. He's the deer and Nines the hunter. And should Nines catch him Connor knows he will end up envying the deer's quick fate.

The sound of a twig snapping somewhere behind him makes Connor jerk his head around, trying to find the source. There's nothing; only shadows. But he takes a deep breath, and he catches a hint of a scent that makes him want to curl up and cry.   
  
_ Nines. _   
  
The twig was a taunt, a sign that Nines  _ wants _ Connor to know he's there. It's a careless mistake that neither of them would make, even stumbling blood-drunk in the early hours after a full moon. Nines  _ wants _ Connor to know he's there, wants him to know the futility of escaping. Connor can almost see his face, the small smirk, the cold eyes, the slightly too sharp teeth. And the next image is all too clear, too—Nines standing over him, reaching out to pull Connor closer, his smirk widening, the cold in his eyes giving way to hunger that Connor had never noticed before.   
  
His breath comes too hard, he's too close to panicking, but Connor can't stop himself. The knowledge that Nines is right  _ there, _ is so close, propels him forward and fills his limbs with terror that gives Connor speed he's never had before. He doesn't think anymore, just runs; he crashes through bushes, jumps over springs, passes through a small clearing. Every so often, he hears a bush rustle just ahead of him, or footsteps off to the side, but he never catches a single glimpse of Nines. He won't, not until Nines wants him to.

Connor's lived in these woods his entire life. He knows them like he knows his own body, doesn't even need to think to know where he is. Civilization is still too far away; no one will hear him, if he screams. Only the animals would know what happened to him—and Nines.   
  
A weight crashes into his back, a clawed hand reaching for his throat. Connor lets go of his control, bares his own fangs and fights back with his own claws, snarls and kicks as he and Nines roll around, exchanging bites and cuts and punches. He can't see Nines' face too clearly, sweat and terror making his vision blurry, but the red eyes are too clear, too demanding. They tell him to give in, to offer his neck and let his alpha do whatever he wants.   
  
Connor grits his teeth and continues fighting. A kick makes Nines slip, and Connor throws him off, turning on his stomach and scrambling to get up. He doesn't even make it two steps before Nines is on him again, his weight making him fall face down onto the ground. Nines' hand shoves his head down, and before Connor can begin to struggle again there are fangs at his shoulder, and a low rumble coming from Nines' chest. It's an order, an alpha's warning to stay still.   
  
Connor's body freezes.

"Stay down," Nines commands, lips pressing hot against Connor's shoulder, and the voice seems to reverberate inside of Connor.   
  
He scrunches his eyes shut and tries to force his body to stop shaking. "L-let me go. Nines, you don't have to-"   
  
Nines bites down, and Connor's words dissolve into a wail. His hands fly out, digging into the dirt as though that will help him escape. But Nines' command—and his weight on top of Connor—keeps him down. Keeps him still, makes him stay.   
  
"I don't have to do anything I don't want to," Nines says and licks at the bloody wound. Connor can't stop the sob rising in his throat, and shakes his head. "You  _ ran _ from me, Connor."   
  
"Don't- please, don't do this-"   
  
One of Nines’ hands tighten on Connor's hips, and he whimpers as claws bite into his skin. " _ You ran. _ You're mine, but you  _ ran. _ "

Connor shakes his head, unmindful of the stones biting harder into his cheek. " _ No.  _ I'm not yours, I don't- you need help, Nines. Let-let me go, and we can talk about this."   
  
Nines' breath hits Connor's ear as he chuckles. The shiver that runs through Connor's body is outside of his control—like everything else. Nines eases his grip on Connor's hip, slipping a soft, human hand under Connor's stomach. "There's nothing to talk about. All I want is for you to admit what we both know even though you deny it—that you belong to me. You always have. And I'll keep showing you, until you stop denying it."   
  
Connor keeps whispering unheard protests as Nines opens his pants. There are tears in his eyes again, but so far Connor can hold them back from falling—he can't control the shakiness of his shout when Nines pulls at his hips and forces him to kneel, though. One of Nines' hands is still shoving Connor's head down, but the other idly strokes his side, thumbs tracing over already half-healed cuts.

The touch—so innocent, so gentle, so  _ caring _ —is probably meant to make Connor relax. It does the exact opposite.   
  
Choking down a sob, Connor breaks through the instincts keeping his body immobile, and rams his elbow up into Nines. It must’ve come as an even bigger surprise to Nines than it was for Connor, because Nines actually grunts in pain, his grip on Connor noticeably easing. Not letting himself think about what he's doing, Connor keeps moving, turning and slapping Nines, backhanded, so hard that it makes him fall to the side. Then he pushes against the ground to get up, almost grateful that he's already on his knees instead of lying down. He needs to run; all he can think of is running and getting away from Nines.   
  
But a furious growl stops him. The anger is palpable, the alpha's aura so strong that Connor feels it suffocating him. This time, this command, he can't possibly break free.

" **_Connor..._ ** "   
  
Connor's eyes burn, and he can't control his breathing at all as he hears Nines get up behind him. His body's locked in place, but he keeps fighting the bind, desperation giving him strength. This was never supposed to happen; Nines was never supposed to do something like this. It's all wrong, wrong,  _ wrong. _   
  
When Nines' hand clamps down on his arm Connor turns, biting into his lip so hard blood runs down his chin, and slaps Nines with his free hand.   
  
Or, tries—because Nines catches his wrist easily, red eyes blazing. Connor's own eyes are yellow, he knows. Weak. Ordinary, compared to his brother. Helpless, like he finds himself when Nines turns him around and bends his arm behind his back.   
  
More.   
  
More.    
  
_ More. _   
  
And the snap seems to echo loudly in the clearing, or maybe it's just in Connor's head, as Nines bends it too far. A moment passes, where Connor can only numbly think that ‘ _ Nines broke his arm _ ,’ and then. The  _ pain. _

There's ringing in his ears, so loud,  _ too _ loud, but still a scream pierces through. Connor wonders idly where it’s coming from, since there's not supposed to be anyone else here. Then fingers are pushed into his mouth, the scream goes silent, and Connor realizes he was the one screaming.   
  
He should feel embarrassed about it, feel ashamed to be so affected by a simple broken bone, but Nines is still clutching his arm, still twisting it behind his back, and Connor can't breathe from the sharp, burning pain. His head spins, and were it not for the fingers in his mouth, holding his head up, and the hand on his back, Connor knows he’d fall to the ground. He should be grateful for his brother once again supporting him, but each beat of his heart sends a new pulse of pain through his broken arm, and all Connor wants is for Nines to  _ let him go. _   
  
"Don't cry," Nines says, his lips brushing past Connor's ear. Connor hadn't noticed how his face was turning wet. "It'll heal by nightfall, be as good as new. But I imagine it hurts, especially if the bone isn't given any relief. I can continue like this, Connor, just keep making you hurt without reprieve. Is that what you want?"   
  
Connor blinks slowly, his mind made thick by the pain, and slowly shakes his head. The fingers don’t allow for any words, nor for any real movement, but his answer is undeniable. If he could, he would be begging,  _ please, I'll do anything, just make it stop hurting- _   
  
"Good. I trust you'll behave then." Nines lets go of the arm, and Connor shakes with relief as the pain fades into something bearable. But Nines doesn't move away; he tugs at Connor's earlobe, nips with too sharp teeth, and says, "If you continue to struggle, I'll break your other arm, and then your legs. And then I'll keep doing what I want with you. What will you do, brother of mine? Will you be good and submit?"   
  
Connor cries, momentarily grateful for the fingers making him unable to speak, and nods.

"Good boy," Nines purrs, and he presses his lips in a soft kiss against where Connor's jaw ends, then continues down Connor's neck.   
  
Connor can't decide if it's worse than the way his arm still throbs, but he knows it makes him want to cry just as much.   
  
This time Nines' hand is almost gentle as he pushes at Connor's back, and Connor can't do anything but obey, slowly lowering himself to his knees again. Every movement makes white-hot flashes of pain course through his body, but he has to endure. It's hard, and made harder by how Nines' fingers are still in his mouth, making it impossible for him to grit his teeth. He can only keep his mouth open—teeth human, round, and dull—as he leans his weight on his good arm.    
  
Nines is warm at his back, his enveloping scent making Connor's head spin. It's like Nines does it on purpose, smothering Connor's own scent and replacing it with his own. If it could be done, he would, Connor thinks, nausea growing in his stomach. All the better to show everyone whom he belongs to, Nines whispers in his head.   
  
But it's only in his head. The real Nines is mouthing at his shoulder, kissing and licking and sucking at the bloody mess his teeth had made earlier. He's too busy to talk, and he makes sure Connor is unable to as well. It proves both a curse and a blessing, because when Nines' hand returns to Connor's jeans only Nines' fingers in his mouth stop him from desperately protesting. They can't stop him from crying, though.

Nines moves quickly, continuing from where he had been interrupted before. Quickly enough, Connor's jeans are open, and Nines pulls his fingers out of his mouth—leaving several strings of saliva that eventually break—so he can use both hands to push the pants down Connor's thighs. Connor stares down into the dirt, leaning his forehead on his forearm, while Nines' hands rubs his bare ass. He can't stop the small sound he makes when Nines' saliva-covered fingers move over his hole.   
  
"Still wet from before," Nines murmurs, voice thick with something Connor can't,  _ won't _ , decipher. The fingers prod, the tip of one slipping past the rim. Connor gasps, and Nines strokes his hip. Giving comfort. "You're so beautiful, Connor. So beautiful. All mine. Wet and open and ready, and  _ mine. _ "   
  
Connor shakes his head, finally closing his eyes again. But he keeps quiet. The throbbing is constant, every pulse of stabbing pain stealing his focus, and he can't forget Nines' threat. He knows Nines would do it, too, knows it without a doubt. So he bites his lips closed, and just shudders as all three of the fingers that had been in his mouth are pushed into his ass. It burns, but not nearly as much as it had the first time Nines fucked him, and that pain is nowhere near the pain of his broken arm. He can do this.   
  
"Oh, and look. There's my come." Nines twists his fingers, and Connor feels something slowly running down his thigh. "Thought it would all be gone by now. But it looks like your body's greedy—hoarding as much as it can."   
  
Nines' exhilarated voice sounds like it’s coming from right beside his head, but Connor refuses to open his eyes and see if it's true. His body burns with shame as Nines rubs his stomach. "Like your body wants to be mine, to be filled with my come. It's a shame you can't get pregnant; I would love to see you, belly swollen with my pups. Undeniably  _ mine. _ "

Without warning Nines pulls his fingers out, and Connor jerks, a soft gasp leaving his lips. There's the sound of a zipper, clothes rustling, and Connor's eyes open of their own accord. All he can see are small pebbles, leaves, and dirt, and it seems to him like they're becoming part of him—dirt means nothing, does nothing, is worth nothing, and isn't that what Connor is compared to Nines?  _ Nothing. _   
  
But he's pulled harshly back into his body when he feels a hand grab his other hip, and something bigger than Nines' fingers pressing up against him. He's shaking again, uncontrollably, and can't even try to swallow his sobs as Nines pushes in, slowly but without pause. And he's  _ so big _ , filling Connor up, and it's too much; his arm is shaking as he forces himself to hold still, and Nines' hand is around his throat, forcing him to hold his head up or choke, and Nines' lips are on his jaw, on his cheek, lapping up the tears on Connor's face, and he's  _ still moving _ , filling Connor up more and more, until finally he's fully seated, his hips pressed tight against Connor's ass.   
  
" **_Mine_ ** ," Nines growls as he turns Connor's face, and Connor can only let his lips be claimed. Just like Nines has claimed the rest of him.

Connor responds weakly, automatically, to Nines' kiss, but it doesn't seem to bother him as he forces Connor's mouth open anyway and tries to  _ devour _ him. Connor's arms hang limply, both the broken and unbroken ones, as he lets Nines hold him up by the hand on his throat and the arm curling around his middle. It's so hard to think or feel anything that isn't  _ Nines _ , isn't his little brother wrapped around him, filling him up inside, scent smothering Connor's own. Everything is Nines; everything is pain and nausea and  _ too much _ and  _ Nines. _   
  
Then he starts to move, and Connor cries out, though the sound is eagerly swallowed by Nines. Everything is too much, and Connor stares up at the treetops, tries to get a glimpse of the sky, of the sun. He can't escape physically, but if he tries, maybe, maybe-   
  
Nines notices his efforts, of course. He doesn't approve, and the hand around Connor's throat turns punishing, grip tightening and cutting off air while his hips move harshly, pulling out and slamming in with enough force to make Connor scream, the sound greedily swallowed by Nines. With a twisted smile that Connor barely notices, Nines eases the grip around his throat again and moves away, letting Connor draw air into his starving lungs. A second passes, then another, and Connor's still gasping, but Nines seems to think it's enough time. This time, when he thrusts into Connor, he doesn't stop.

"You feel so good taking me," Nines growls, his growing claws leaving small, aching cuts on Connor's neck. His other hand sneaks down to squeeze Connor's cock, and Connor moans helplessly, throwing his head back on Nines' shoulder.   
  
"Beautiful," Nines murmurs. His hips shift in small rolling movements, while his hand carefully works Connor's cock. The pain is going away, replaced by unwanted pleasure, and Connor can only moan through the tears. Nines kisses his cheek, licks the tears. "Mine. Only mine."   
  
It’s not pure pleasure—as werewolves they heal far quicker than humans possibly can—but Connor's arm is still broken, and will stay so for several hours. And every movement Nines makes, every time Connor shivers or flinches, a jolt of pain goes through his whole body, bringing him out of the hazy pleasure that might have otherwise overtaken him. He can see the sky now, but it only reminds him of Nines' eyes, a calm gray-blue when he's not calling on his alpha side. It doesn't exactly help Connor dissociate from the situation, and he moves his head again, lets it hang down against his chest instead.

It’s better that way; on the dark ground, with brown dirt and green grass, there aren't many things that reminds him of Nines. Nines is the sky, superior and overwhelming and ever watching, higher than everything else. And Connor, Connor is the ground, doomed to stay where he is forever, never close to reaching the sky no matter how he grows and strains.

" _ Stop... _ "   
  
Nines freezes, and for a moment Connor doesn't understand why. Then he realizes what he’s done, that he’s let that word slip from thought to speech. A chilling hand squeezes Connor's heart. There's no way to know what Nines is thinking or what he'll do. Was that protest enough to make him act on his earlier threat? He’s not struggling, not physically, but maybe Nines didn't mean just physical struggling? Maybe he meant any sort of protest would be taken as such.   
  
Connor clenches his jaw to keep his mouth shut. It feels, far too assuredly, like if he opens it, everything in his stomach will come up, and  _ that _ will certainly make Nines angry if he isn't already. He just keeps staring down at the ground, heartbeat pulsing in his ears, as he waits for Nines to  _ do _ something.   
  
The almost ghostly touch as Nines trails a sharp claw down Connor's chest and stomach takes the breath from him. "You're not allowed to say 'no,' Connor," Nines says. His voice is calm and steady, and that only frightens Connor even more. His finger continues downwards, towards Connor's crotch. "You belong to me. That means you're mine, and _ I  _ decide what I do with you.  _ I  _ decide when enough's enough.  _ You _ have nothing to say about it."

The claw stops just above Connor's cock, and the warning in both that action and Nines' voice is all too clear.   
  
" _ Do you understand? _ "   
  
Connor shakes his head, his eyes falling shut as he bites his lip and feels blood well up again. But the pressure of Nines' claw increases, just a bit, and Connor  _ breaks _ . He reaches up with his good hand and tries to stifle the sobs, tries to remember how to breathe so he can speak.   
  
"Yes. Yes, please- please, Nines, I'm- I'll do what you want. Just,  _ please _ , please don't hurt me again."   
  
The claw immediately pulls away, and instead a too human hand settles on Connor's chest, and Nines presses soft kisses against his cheek while making soothing noises. "Of course, Connor. That's all I want, for you to stop denying it. As long as you know who you are, and to whom you belong, there's no reason to hurt you, now is there? So say it, Connor. Tell me, let me hear it with your own words. Who do you belong to?"   
  
Connor opens his eyes, finds the sky bearing down on him, and closes them again.    
  
"You," he whispers, barely loud enough to be heard over the breeze blowing through the clearing. But Nines hears him, and his satisfied growl makes a shiver run down Connor's spine. It's not unpleasant, he tells himself.

But then both of Nines' hands move, gripping his hips—too hard, painfully hard, that’ll leave bruises, Connor knows, even if only for some time—and when he slams in Connor only manages not to scream because the air was knocked out of him. Nines sets a ruthless pace, heedless of Connor or his pleasure, or how his broken arm is being jarred by every sharp movement of Connor's body as Nines pounds into him. Without his brother’s support, Connor can't keep himself upright for long, not with the way his aching arm is making his head swim dangerously, and after a particularly hard thrust he falls forward. Instinct takes over when he sees the ground rushing closer, and he throws up his arms—both of them.   
  
This time there's nothing stopping him from screaming. Connor clutches his arm, tears blinding him, his face scraping against the ground  _ because Nines is still moving _ . Whatever control Connor had is far gone now, and he sobs helplessly as Nines moans above him.   
  
"You're- Connor, you feel so good. You're made for me, don't you see it? Your body sucks me in, takes all of my dick, like that's what it’s meant to do. How can you ever deny you're not mine, when even your body's meant for me to use as I please?"

Connor can only let Nines' words wash over him as he closes his eyes. He can't do anything about the way his body's being pushed and pulled around, but he can at least try not to get anything in his eyes. The way the rocks scrape at his face, opening tiny cuts here and there, is enough. The pain they cause is inconsequential, barely a blip on his radar,  _ nothing _ compared to the searing pain continuing to plague Connor with every movement that jars his arm.

And through it all, Nines keeps fucking him, gripping his hips so hard that Connor’s lost the feeling in those spots. His world has shrunk down to only a few things: his ruined arm, his face being rubbed raw against the ground, and Nines filling him up so completely. Nines has stopped pulling out quite as much, and is instead pushing deeper than Connor thought he was able to. It feels like he's being filled to the breaking point, like Nines will tear him apart if he pushes just a little harder, but-   
  
It can't be his imagination, can it? Nines’ cock—far too big already, in Connor's opinion—is growing. And he knows, when Nines' claws break skin and draw blood, he  _ knows _ . He felt his brother's knot, just a few hours earlier. And though he thought that this time would be easier, that the second time wouldn't fill him with such mind numbing terror, he finds that he was  _ wrong _ , so very wrong.   
  
"N-Nines," he gasps, releasing his broken arm in order to scramble at the ground, to push himself up again. "Please, not again, you don't have to-"   
  
"Stay.  _ Down. _ " Nines’ hand pushes Connor's head down again, presses his cheek hard into the ground, while Nines himself moans shakily and pushes himself as deeply into Connor's body as he can get. Then he stops, and Connor feels how the cock inside of him  _ grows _ , markedly. And, then, there’s wet heat spreading inside of him. Nines sighs happily, ignoring Connor's sobs as though he can't even hear them.

The pressure inside of him continues to grow, and though his body’s been getting used to the size of Nines’ cock, this is stretching him far too much. It's not quite pain, but it's like a force is pushing everything inside of him away. He imagines he’s choking, feels like he  _ is _ choking, because it's  _ too much _ and  _ too large _ .   
  
"Ni-Nines," he rasps.   
  
"Shh, you're doing so good, Connor. My Connor. Mine." Nines sighs and rubs his knuckles against Connor's cheek, looking down at him fondly while Connor continues to cry wordlessly. "My brother, my dear, dear brother. You're so good, submitting to me, letting me claim you like the hungry slut you are. Do you have any idea how amazing you feel, Connor? How you're sucking me in, like I wouldn't be able to get out of you even if I tried? You might deny it, but your body is so earnest."   
  
Connor trembles, shaking his head, tries to find the words— _ any _ words—to make Nines see how insane and messed up he is. But nothing happens, no words come to his tongue, and he only keeps crying silently. Nines smiles, watching him like Connor is everything he’s ever wanted, like he's the sun itself, like he's the most precious treasure in the world.   
  
It's a lie, of course. Connor is nothing, absolutely nothing, like the dirt he’s lying on. All he is, according to Nines, is a body to be fucked and used. Their own parents were going to send him away, and probably would have if Nines hadn’t ki- stopped them. With Nines there, always there, always going wherever Connor goes—what use is Connor? What meaning does his life hold?   
  
No. He's  _ nothing. _ Nines makes him nothing.

Nines sighs again, sounding so satisfied, and moves the two of them so he can lie down on the ground, pulling Connor down with him, tucking him securely into his arms. When Connor whimpers as his arm is moved, Nines rubs his hip and presses apologetic kisses to the side of his face. They're meant to be soothing actions, but Connor can't stop crying.

Nines hums against his ear, cradling Connor's body close—though he's careful not to budge the broken arm now. "And now that that's all over, now that you've stopped denying me, denying  _ us, _ we can continue on like we were always supposed to. I let you have those teenage dalliances, so you wouldn't feel so overwhelmed once I finally took you as mine, but I have complete knowledge of how far they went. There are  _ so _ many things I'll have to teach you, Connor."   
  
Connor can hear the smile in his brother's voice, notices the way Nines caresses his chest and stomach tenderly—but he's stuck on the thought of what Nines had  _ allowed _ . That he knows exactly what sort of sexual experiences Connor has had. To know that, he must’ve been there, must’ve seen it all.   
  
The sun is bright, and the air is warm and pleasant, but Connor feels nothing but cold inside.   
  
"Your body won't be hard to teach," Nines continues with a chuckle. "This is only the second time we’ve lain together, and already it's adjusting so perfectly for me. So hungry. I wonder, how much time will it take before your body begs for me, for my touch? I'll treasure it, just like I treasure you, because it's a part of you, and you belong to me. I'll make you unable to live without me, and with time your body will ache for my dick to fill it up. And you, my dear Connor, you haven't even begun tasting the sweet pleasure I'll give you. It'll drive you mad, I promise."   
  
Connor stares straight ahead, doesn't make a single noise, doesn't move when Nines turns his head and starts kissing him. He's registering everything Nines says, and the meaning behind every word, and he's finding it harder and harder to breathe. Nines has held these thoughts, these  _ desires _ , for so long; how has Connor been so blind that he missed them?

Behind him Nines hums and strokes Connor's belly, slowly, leisurely. The repetitive motions draw Connor's attention, despite the pain, despite the feeling of being  _ too full _ , despite the way his world’s started breaking and still hasn't stopped. What he sees shatters him just a little bit more.   
  
Nines nuzzles his neck and whispers, as though he'd disturb someone, or something, if he spoke any louder, "It's a beautiful fantasy, isn't it? You being pregnant with my children. With you looking like this, one can almost imagine that being real."   
  
It's true, what Nines says, and it makes Connor feel faint. His stomach bulges underneath Nines’ hand—not too much, but certainly enough to be noticeable. It looks like someone who's in the early stages of pregnancy. Connor shakes his head, growing increasingly frantic with each moment. He knows, he  _ knows _ , but still his mind blanks with fear.   
  
"Wha-what is this? Nines, I can't be-"   
  
Nines laughs at him, pulling Connor closer against his chest. "Of course not, silly. Just because we're werewolves doesn't mean men can suddenly get pregnant. And it's a good thing, because I'd sooner rip the head off of any pup before sharing you with them."   
  
It seems he doesn't notice the way Connor freezes, his blood turning to ice in his veins, because Nines continues with that same light-hearted tone.   
  
"Alphas have extraordinary amounts of semen, in order to best create offspring. So since we had sex only a few hours ago it only makes sense that adding a second load makes it... well, like this."

Looking like ' _ this _ ' makes bile rise in Connor's throat, and he forces himself to raise his eyes and look at anything else. Nines keeps rubbing his belly. For a moment, an insane moment brought by pain and the cock filling him up and the disturbed mind he's discovering behind his beloved brother's face, Connor imagines himself ripping away that hand and screaming, telling Nines exactly what he thinks of these desires and fantasies he has.   
  
But a jolt of pain from his arm brings him back to reality, and shifting even slightly makes it clear just how stuck he is. He can't even think of what sort of damage he would sustain if he tore Nines' knot out of himself. And while Nines is happy, affectionately cuddling Connor, all the  _ disturbed _ things he's said still echo in Connor's head.   
  
Nines broke his arm for struggling, and threatened to break the rest of his limbs if he continued. Nines threatened to hurt—cut open or rip off, or in some other way damage—his cock, because Connor said 'stop.' Nines said he would rip off the heads off any children they might have rather than share Connor with them—and it doesn't matter that the children are imaginary, the calm certainty with which he’d spoken makes Connor's heart stop with terror. How is  _ this _ his brother?

It doesn't fit with the picture of the peaceful, almost slumbering man behind Connor, holding him close. But then again, just a day earlier Connor wouldn't have had any idea about the darkness hiding in his brother. Now, though, now he's experienced it himself, all too well. He shifts, and the knot inside of him shifts as well.   
  
He's just starting to realize what truly lurks behind Nines' eyes, and already he's so shaken he can't think. And thinking is all he can really do for now. The knot won't last forever, and when Nines finally pulls out he's going to think Connor’s given in, that Connor's going to do whatever he wants. Connor has different plans. Sure, the broken arm might complicate things, but if he can only focus he should be able to use Nines' drowsiness and his certainty of his victory against him. He just needs to think, gather his focus and thoughts and  _ think _ of what to do.   
  
If only it wasn't so damned hard, with the burning pain interrupting his thoughts every so often, and the slightest shifting of either Connor or Nines making the knot inside of him move, and the way Nines keeps rubbing his stomach hypnotically.

He must’ve passed out, though just for a short period of time, because all of sudden he feels Nines move—really move, more than the minute shifts from earlier. And he realizes then that the knot has shrunk, just as Nines carefully pulls out with a grunt, one that Connor echoes. The ache left inside of him is all too distinct, just as is the feeling of come running down his thighs. But it's only a small amount, the rest too far inside of Connor's body to easily slide out.

"Such a waste," Nines says behind him, and that's all the warning Connor has before Nines' fingers are  _ there _ , scooping up the come and pushing it back into Connor. A moan tears itself from his throat at the feeling as Nines pushes further, exploring the skin inside of Connor that hasn’t even had the chance to adjust after being so stretched. "But even now, or, especially now, you're so beautiful, Connor. So alluring. You make it next to impossible to keep my hands to myself. Now, more than ever. Oh, if only you knew how many times I've wanted to pull you close and open you up, fill you with my dick and my come, until you smell more of me than yourself."   
  
Connor shivers and forces his eyes to stay open as Nines works on him. It'll be over soon, it has to be. Nines has already come, and not even werewolf stamina will allow someone to get hard again so quickly. So why does he keep fucking Connor with his fingers?   
  
The answer comes to him when Nines’ other hand reaches out and starts stroking Connor's cock. At Connor’s choked moan, Nines only chuckles and kisses his neck, continuing to move both his hands. And it's good, it feels so good, and Connor’s been wrapped up in a mix of pain and fear and pleasure for so long now that he finds himself lost in the physical sensations. Nines' fingers feel nothing but good as they work in and out of him, and Nines knows exactly how to squeeze and twist and stroke Connor's cock to make his toes curl, and the heat that grows in the pit of his stomach all too easily mixes with the heat of the come left behind by Nines.   
  
When Connor comes, he comes with a strangled moan, though it can all too easily be taken for a sob.

"So beautiful, Connor.  _ My _ Connor."   
  
Connor closes his eyes and doesn't think about Nines licking his hand clean of the come on it. He doesn't know how much more he can take, how much more before it's finally too much. How much can a person endure before they break one too many times? It feels like Connor will find out.

Nines hugs him tight once more, then releases him to stand up. He’s moving slower than usual, Connor notices, like he has all the time in the world. Gone are the animalistic features, leaving only the softly smiling human. The sight makes Connor's eyes sting.   
  
"Come here, I'll help you." Carefully, as though he's handling glass, Nines reaches down and helps Connor get up on his feet, pausing every time Connor's arm is jostled and he can't stop a hiss from escaping his gritted teeth. Every time a small apology is whispered, but Connor pretends each time he's too distracted by the pain to hear.   
  
When they're standing up, face to face, Nines just looks at him for a good, long time, one hand resting on Connor's wrist and the other on his hip. It's too much, Connor feels like Nines will see his innermost thoughts, so he looks away, focuses on a point to the left of Nines' ear. Surely Nines notices, but he doesn't say anything about it—the thought hits Connor that he surely takes it as a sign of submission, and he has to fight to remain still.   
  
He has to wait for his opportunity. Because he passed out, he never got the time to work out a plan, but that doesn't matter. Plan or no plan, he needs to do something soon, needs to escape. With Nines slow and sated and trusting like this, there won't ever be a better time.

"Now, let's go back home, shall we?"    
  
Nines' own clothes are in disarray, but he pulls up Connor's jeans first, buttons them up and makes sure it looks okay before giving Connor a lopsided smile. He opens his mouth to say something, but Connor can't listen. He's too kind, too gentle and happy, and it makes Connor's head spin.   
  
So he turns, with his good arm facing Nines, and takes a step. As expected, when his leg gives out and he begins falling, Nines throws himself after him, catching Connor easily. Placing him well within reach. And Connor doesn't hesitate, ramming his elbow into Nines' chest the moment he feels Nines' hands on him—hitting the very same spot he'd hit back when they were fighting.    
  
And just like then, Nines clearly doesn't expect the attack, giving a pained shout as he stumbles back a step. Connor whirls around and follows through, raising his hand as claws quickly grow. Nines' hands are at his chest, his eyes still shut, and his throat is unprotected. Such an easy target. One swipe of his claws, and Connor would tear out his throat and spill Nines' life blood on the ground. No longer would he need to fear what Nines will do to him, or wonder about the torturous existence that Nines is planning for him. He could go back to his life, to Hank and his coworkers.   
  
Nines opens his eyes, and there are tears in those all too human eyes. Eyes that Connor knows as well as his own. Pain, hurt, a single question— _ how could you? _   
  
At the last moment, Connor closes his fist, aiming a punch at Nines' windpipe. Crushing that will make Nines go down—would make any person go down—but it won't kill him; werewolves are far too resilient to be killed by most forms of blunt force. It hurts, the crunch of his larynx, and the gargle of Nines' crushed throat, but it's not fatal.   
  
Connor can't decide how he feels about that.

Nines goes down, goes down  _ hard _ with his hands flying to his throat, and Connor fights for a moment with his impulse to rush forward and comfort his brother, to try and help him. But he can't. He can't, he can't, he needs to move, he needs to  _ run. _   
  
Moving his legs this time feels like trying to wade through waist high water, and it doesn't help that he's still shaky after his orgasm, but he presses on. He’s made his choice, and now he has to follow through with it. And, just like before, he needs to  _ get away _ . Before Nines recovers.   
  
His arm is fire, and even if Connor holds onto it tight as he runs, it keeps being jostled when he leaps over bushes and logs and ducks under low-hanging branches. It takes far too short a time for his breathing to get heavy, every gasp strained. And the ache between his legs keeps distracting him, pulsing pain deepening as he takes a too wide step. To his shame, he eventually finds himself forced to slow down and pause as he leans his shoulder against a tree. Sweat drips down his brow, and he wipes it away with a faint growl, closing his eyes as his forearm swipes across them.   
  
That's why he doesn't see Nines, not until a hand closes around his neck and his arm is ripped from his face.

"Ni-" Connor tries to gasp, but the grip around his throat tightens, and all air cuts off.   
  
Nines' lower face is bloody, his fangs bared in a furious grimace, and a growl comes from deep in his chest. His eyes are red and pin Connor to the tree with the full weight of an angry alpha. He must be in pain, Connor thinks wildly. How could he move around so quickly? And get so close without Connor hearing him?   
  
The garbled sound Nines makes must be words, but his crushed throat only forces more blood to run from his lips, and the fury in his face increases. Black dots dance at the outskirts of Connor's vision, but Nines doesn't even seem to notice the way Connor claws at his hand in desperation. He keeps trying to talk, only getting more and more frustrated when he fails.   
  
Connor shakes his head, tries with the last bit of air in his lungs to gasp Nines' name, and that brings his attention fully to him. It doesn't take him even a second to regret it. Something changes in Nines' eyes, something cold and terrifying, and Connor feels tears gather at the corners of his eyes when Nines grabs his good arm. Distantly, he knows what's coming, but when Nines breaks it in one merciless twist Connor's still somehow taken by surprise. There's no air left in his lungs for him to scream, but he does his best.

Nines’ expression doesn't change as he lets go of Connor's arm, letting it fall bonelessly to his side. Connor doesn't feel the tears running down his face, all he feels is the scorching pain of both of his broken arms, and how his body is screaming for air. Air that Nines doesn't seem to intend to give him.

With his eyes still so cold, still bearing down on Connor without blinking, Nines raises his foot and puts it on Connor's left knee. His lips moving wordlessly, Connor begs him not to, but Nines pushes down, the pressure getting heavier and heavier until the bone snaps under Nines’ boot. Connor's eyes roll back into his head, his head buzzing with nothing but  _ pain. _

But like Nines, he, too, is a werewolf, and resilience is both a blessing and a curse. Nines shakes him, and the pain pulls Connor back. He hangs bonelessly in Nines’ grip, his head empty of everything except pain. If Nines keeps choking him, though, not even werewolf physiology will be enough to keep him conscious. Nines raises his other foot and places it on Connor's right knee, and Connor begs silently for oblivion to take him.

It doesn't.

When he's broken Connor's other knee, Nines stares at Connor for a long moment, his face unreadable. Then he opens his hand and lets Connor tumble to the ground in a heap, gasping and sobbing and screaming as he's finally able to pull air into his body. Each heaving breath makes a choked scream escape him, because with air Connor's head is clearing up, and he can all the better feel the pain of his ruined limbs. Every instinct makes him want to move, to get up on his legs, to curl up on his side, to roll onto his back, to press his hand over his mouth so he can at least stifle the screams—and with every impulse he tries moving his arms or legs, only making more pain flash through him until it's all he  _ is _ . There is no Connor, there is only  _ pain. _

He doesn't hear or see Nines crouch next to him, he doesn't feel Nines' hands scooping him up, he doesn't notice being carried away. His eyes are open and he sees the treetops, sees the sky, but whatever his mind's able to process of what's happening is being drowned out by the unrelenting, searing pain that gives him no relief. Nines looks down at him, and by chance Connor catches his gaze, and at the very back of his mind, through the haze of pain, he dimly marvels at how those red eyes so perfectly suit the pain.


End file.
